


lots of stares and doodle hearts

by thelotusflower



Category: South Park
Genre: ??? - Freeform, ??? i don't even know, Banter, Character Study, Homework, Idiots, Innocent, M/M, Models, Mutual Pining, One-sided pining, craig likes watching tweek and not doing his homework, craig pining, kind of, literally....................... this is just craig pining over tweek, middle school is my fav thing to write?, probably 8th grade or something idk maybe 7th, there is a lot of dialogue towards end?, tweek is sick of his shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15582249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/pseuds/thelotusflower
Summary: "He figures he should try harder in school if he ever wants to get out of this shitty town and go to space, but the thing is, the thing is, Tweek is in this shitty town. Tweek, and the little dent his forehead gets when he is concentrating. Tweek, and that little button, turned down nose he has, which crinkles every time he laughs. Space has stars, planets, black holes, but South Park has tangled, messy blond, hair and stunning green eyes that could pull in entire galaxies, if wanted to."





	lots of stares and doodle hearts

He stares  _ a lot. _

 

He’s grateful Tweek is so unaware; too focused on the model ships, planes, and occasional  _ rockets,  _ he’s working on to ever really notice. It’s one of the only times he ever stops shaking, when that constant jitter he has fades away and is replaced with absolute concentration and precision. He blacks out the world, blacks out the noise and most importantly,  _ Craig,  _ who stares so much, he’s surprised he hasn’t burned holes through Tweek’s head yet.

 

(Like, he  _ literally,  _ had _ lasers _ coming out of his eyes before, back in peru in fourth grade.)

 

He stays quiet, pretends to work on his math homework, but he never finishes and his teacher always tells him he has so much potential if he actually put the work in. He gets a C in the class.

 

He figures he should try harder in school if he ever wants to get out of this shitty town and go to space, but the thing is, the  _ thing  _ is,  _ Tweek _ is in this shitty town. Tweek, and the little dent his forehead gets when he is concentrating. Tweek, and that little button, turned down nose he has, which crinkles every time he laughs. Space has stars, planets, black holes, but South Park has tangled, messy blond, hair and stunning green eyes that could pull in entire galaxies, if wanted to.

 

He wonders if he’s the only one to notice these things--the multiple calluses on Tweek’s fingers from working on all the models, and the tiny almost, star shaped, scar on his inner wrist from when he was eight and burned himself making coffee.  _ (His stupid, fucking parents.) _

 

He kind of hope no one else notices.

 

Tweek’s almost finished with the model of the vessel. He’s just finishing things up,  _ perfecting  _ the already perfection the vessel is (it’s made by an angel, afterall.) He knows this means he will eventually have to tear himself away, and actually  _ do  _ his math homework, but he can’t resist the urge to keep gawking.

 

He stares until Tweek is rising to his feet, model in hand, a small grin of satisfaction glued to his face. Craig is fully aware it’s time to look away and refrain his focus on the math homework he has been full on avoiding for about a half hour now, but he still gawks.

 

Tweek places it on top of his shelf, moving another model a couple inches to the left for it to fit. He’s not going to be able to fit anymore on there. That means he is either going to have to take one apart or find a new trophy place.

 

Tweek flocks his eyes over to him. He’s at Tarek’s desk, his math book and notebook sprawled across his desk. He averts his gaze to the whopping six problems he got done. 

 

“Did you finish?” Tweek asks, because if he was  _ trying _ , if he just managed to focus on the problems and his calculator, instead of the boy in front of him and his vessel, he would easily be done.

 

“Almost.” Craig lies. He finished 6 of 24 questions. He finished ¼ of it. That can count as almost, right?

 

“O-only counts in horseshoes,” the other boy chirps annoyingly. Why does he even  _ like  _ him? Tweek strides over to him in a couple steps, peeking over his shoulder. Craig would close his notebook to hide the ¾ of his math homework that’s undone, but he decides that would look suspicious and he’s not  _ that  _ invested in covering his lie. Maybe Tweek will even let him copy his. “You’re, nghhh, on, ah, six!?”

 

Craig shrugs, looking at the unfinished homework before him and avoids the boy’s stare above him. He feels his face warm. “I, um, got distracted.”

 

“Maybe you have ADD,” Tweek suggests. “Y-you were sitting here for like an hour, man.  _ Jesus _ . It doesn’t even take  _ me  _ that long.”

 

Craig rolls his eyes. He shuts the Algebra book, and his notebook alongside it. Tweek  _ may  _ have ADD, but he  _ doesn’t  _ have a coffee-addict, messy haired, adorable boy to avert all his attention to. Craig’s pretty sure he’s got it worse. Craig flips him off, staring at him the first time since he came over here. He’s leaning into the side of the desk, arms crossed, narrowing his pale green eyes on him. 

 

“It’s up to 24, Craig. That’s not, nnngh, almost. Are you really  _ that  _ bad at math? You still have like, ah, more than half of it to do!”

 

“Jesus, Mom. Chill. I’ll get it done.”

 

“You never do!” Tweek rolls his eyes. He tugs on his hair a bit. 

 

“Says who?” Craig retorts, leaning back into the chair. He crosses his arms. It’s kind of weird looking  _ up  _ at Tweek. It’s kind of weird looking  _ up  _ at anyone, he supposes. He’s the tallest kid in their grade. It feels especially weird with Tweek though.

 

“Your mom.”

 

“What?” Craig demands. “Are you--you’ve been talking to my mom?” He thinks about the last couple weeks of his mom nagging and yelling about how he needs to start doing his homework. Apparently his Algebra teacher sent her an email.  _ Fuck  _ that bitch. And now Tweek is somehow in the loop? Craig kind of feels betrayed. “What the fuck.”

 

“AUGH! Chill, dude. She stopped, nnngh, by Tweak Bro’s the other day. She just started talking about, nnngh, you, and your inability to rrr, do anything relating to effort.”

 

He grimaces, feeling wildly annoyed. Who the hell goes around discussing their son’s lack of effort in school with  _ other  _ kids at the school? God, what a psycho.

 

“That’s fucking weird, dude.”

 

“She’s just concerned.”

 

“Stop talking to my mom,” he demands, looking away. He swivels the other way in the chair, crossing his arms. 

 

“Well, ah, fuck. G-guess I’ll just have to cancel my plans to get coffee with her after this, then.”

 

“Ha  _ ha,”  _ Craig mocks. He still doesn’t want to look at Tweek. He’s honestly kind of pissed. What the fuck? What  _ else  _ came up in this conversation with his mother? Why didn’t Tweek tell him before? Why is he such a traitor?

 

Tweek is laughing gingerly now. Craig  _ almost  _ looks over to see if his nose is crinkling. Almost. 

 

“You’re so butthut. Over  _ nothing.” _

 

“I don’t care.” He lies.

 

“R-right-t,” Tweek mutters, clicking his teeth on the ‘t’.

 

A moment passes. Tweek walks over to his bed, which is adjacent to his deck, meaning he is now in front of Craig again. Craig looks at him through his eyelashes. He looks sort of bothered. Then again, that’s almost his natural expression--bothered. He’s always being bothered by something; monsters, demons, underpants gnomes, aliens,  _ something,  _ but Craig has a feeling it’s him this time. Oh well. Tweek is bothersome. Tweek is bothersome when he talks to his mother behind his back about his grades and homework, and God knows what else.

 

“If you care so much,” Craig begins, kind of hating he’s the first to break the dragged out silence, “then just let me copy yours.”

 

Tweek rolls his eyes. “Are you serious-s?!” he exclaims.

 

“Kind of. You sort of owe it to me anyways.”

 

Tweek rolls his eyes, and rubs his eyebrow. “How?” he demands. “How do I  _ owe  _ it to you, Craig? When have I copied your  _ homework _ that you  _ never  _ d _ o?” _

 

Craig feels himself heat up. He  _ supposes  _ Tweek has a point. He’s pretty good at arguing. It’s fucking  _ annoying  _ how good at arguing he is, but Craig’s sure he’s got this one in the bag. Maybe.

 

“You talked to my mom about me behind my back, and didn’t tell me about it, traitor.”

 

Tweek shakes his head. “You’re a bastard. You know that?”

 

Craig shrugs. 

 

Tweek gets up, moves over to his backpack, which resides at the end of his bed, against the headboard. He shuffles through the thing for a couple minutes, pulling out a few papers Craig just  _ knows  _ have been in there for months, just piling up, before pulling out a green, college ruled, notebook. He slaps the thing on the desk, and rolls his eyes while doing so. 

 

“So,  _ sassy,”  _ Craig remarks as Tweek takes his seat again at his bed. He opens the notebook, flipping to the most recent marked pages. Craig notices heart doodles up and down the sides of the paper. One is filled in, the other is open. One has an arrow through it, another is multiple hearts in one, like a russian doll. Craig wonders if he was thinking of anyone while sketching these, or if it was just because he likes hearts.

 

“W-will you  _ shut  _ up about it, now?” he requests.

 

“Did she say anything else?” Craig asks, eyes still on the hearts. He draws hearts sometimes. He always thinks of Tweek.

 

“M-man, I don’t know. Not really. Jesus. You need to know the whole conversation, word by word?”

 

Man, Tweek is an asshole sometimes.

 

“Nope,” Craig responds. The hearts are various sizes. Large and small. Wide and narrow. He flips through the pages.  _ God, he draws a lot of hearts.  _ Craig should stop being an annoying little shit if he wants Tweek to think of him while drawing these doodled hearts.

 

“Mmph. Can you just copy it, already?” he requests impatiently after a couple page flips. He can  _ hear  _ the anxiety in his tone. “AUGH! W-why are you flipping through all the pages, man?” his voice wavers.

 

Craig glances over at him. He is on the edge of the bed, his toes propped up like he is about to jump off and dive for the notebook. He’s got this strained expression on his face, his fists are clenched into the blanket. At least it’s not his hair.

 

“Got something to hide, honey?” 

 

Tweek shakes his head. “No, nosey. I-I--you really  _ do  _ get distracted easily.”

 

“Only when you’re around.” He bites his lip after. Is that too much? He is never sure what is too much. What is playful flirting, and what is letting on of his gigantic, enormous crush on his pretend childhood sweetheart? He’s pretty sure he’s basically in love with him. He probably has been since he came into his backyard back in fourth grade and went on about how Craig made him feel good, and how he wants to do the same back.

 

“W-what? Well, sorry. I get it. Mmmph. My twitch is pretty distracting. And, nngh, everything else about me, gah,” he pulls his hair.

 

Craig bites his lip because he’s finding it _really_ hard to not let it slip--how much he’s in love with him. It’s those fucking hearts, man. They are just bursting on every page, and Craig feels they are somehow mocking his own heart.

 

“Uh, no,” Craig tries because he’s got to say  _ something.  _ Something to let Tweek know that it’s all his good, angelic, beautiful qualities that gets in the way of his concentration to literally  _ anything  _ beside Tweek. “No, all that’s sort of… I don’t even notice it, honestly.” Craig feels himself  _ blushing  _ because he’s just that goddamn awkward, that even saying something  _ remotely  _ affectionate and in reference to his feelings just makes everything go wobbly.

 

Tweek stares at him. Craig looks away and to the notebook.

 

“Then, what?” he asks.

 

Craig flips another page. There is a heart on this one that says ‘c+t’ on the inside, and he’s pretty sure his face is brighter than Red Racer itself. He flips back to the homework he’s  _ supposed  _ to be copying, and opens his own notebook once more. He refuses to look at Tweek.  _ God.  _

 

He hates himself. He goddamn hates himself because he’s grinning, and can’t really stop. He picks up his pencil, and tries to regain himself, tries to go on like nothing happened, forgets Tweek even  _ asked  _ anything.

  
  


“Fucking  _ what,  _ man? What are you laughing at?”

 

“I’m not -- I’m not laughing,” he says seriously. He still won’t look at him. He begins to copy the homework.

 

He can  _ feel  _ Tweek staring. Could Tweek feel his gaze earlier when he was gawking? 

 

He wants to stop smiling, but it’s uncontrollable. Tweek was thinking about him with these hearts. Well, at least one of them. It’s honestly enough for Craig.

 

In fourth grade, they carved a heart into a tree with their initials, but it was fourth grade, and nothing meant anything back then, but now they are older, and it  _ means  _ something.

 

“Aw, fuck. You --gah, you.”

 

“I’m trying to do my homework. Stop distracting me.” He says playfully. He still can’t look over at him, face still red, but he’s able to control his grin again.

 

“Nngh. You mean you’re  _ copying  _ mine because you’re apparently too distracted by me to do any actual work.” Tweek points out. 

 

“Yeah, so, you, once again, kind of owe me this.”

 

“You’re a prick,” Tweek comments. “A real fucking prick.”

 

Craig chuckles. 

 

He copies the rest, and he’s pretty sure Tweek stares at him the whole time.

 

Maybe he isn’t the only one who stares a lot, and doodles hearts with the other boy  in mind. Maybe he distracts Tweek too.

  
  



End file.
